


And the Table

by Sed



Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M, Mindlink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron and Clu accidentally make things very awkward for Alan and Kevin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for noctaval/stalkingbit's request: "Because of the ~mystical connection~ between User and Program all of a sudden during a boardroom meeting Kevin and Alan can barely keep from tearing each others’ clothes off, because somewhere on the Grid Clu and Tron are fucking. So afterward we get desperate sex on a boardroom table in the office. Post-Tron but before Legacy, when Kevin is CEO."

Alan really liked the recently updated boardroom. He looked around at the paneled walls and wide, bright windows while one of Encom’s overachieving analysts explained the results of a strategic planning session that Alan couldn’t be bothered to think about. It wasn’t necessarily _what_ was being said that failed to capture his interest, so much as _who_ was saying it. Flynn had described Mackey as a “little shit” so many times that it was hard to take him seriously anymore, despite how quickly he’d managed to insert himself into key roles in the day-to-day operations of Encom.  
  
Flynn didn’t seem to be paying attention, either; his chair was turned away from the presentation at the head of the long black table, angled so that he partially faced the wall. He was lounging with his legs stretched out, staring at nothing. That wasn’t necessarily unusual for Flynn, who often seemed to be distracted or just elsewhere with his thoughts, but he seemed especially distant as he slowly swiveled the chair side to side, tapping his lower lip with one finger. Alan watched him, suddenly feeling as though something monumentally important depended on Flynn’s next move.  
  
A moment later Flynn stopped tapping his finger, and left it resting on his lip instead. Alan took a deep breath. His pulse quickened. He wanted Flynn to look at him—he _needed_ it. For a moment he contemplated calling out to him, anything to get his attention, but the droning sound of Mackey trying to convince the board that his ideas would lead to raised profit margins reminded Alan that he wasn’t in the proper setting to shout “ _Fucking look at me!_ ” across a table.  
  
It was tempting, though.  
  
Seconds dragged on like hours, like days, and Alan waited. He tapped his foot on the carpeted floor to relieve the stress of trying to hold back his building sense of urgency, and just when it finally felt like too much, when he thought he would lose the battle to contain himself, Alan saw the faintest smile creep onto Flynn’s face. Flynn rotated the chair to the side a bit further, just enough to allow him to meet Alan’s stare from the corner of his eye. The finger on his lip slipped between his teeth and he bit down gently, drawing a low sound from Alan that started as a groan but was quickly masked with a cough. Alan kept the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, watching Flynn, eyes roaming over every inch of the man that he could see. Flynn’s navy blue suit had the look of something he rarely wore, mostly because he rarely wore it, and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the top; he hadn’t bothered with a tie. Alan imagined slipping his hands under the collar of that shirt, pulling the fabric apart at the expense of the buttons, trailing his lips and tongue along Flynn’s chest, pressing him against the table…  
  
Almost on cue, Flynn’s finger traveled down, over his chin and curving slowly inward and down, to the hollow of his throat. He slid his hand flat against his collarbone and just under the edge of his shirt. Alan could hear himself breathing now, fast and ragged as though he’d just come from running a marathon. He was certain Flynn could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. The man was toying with him, daring him to close the space between them and take whatever he wanted. Alan wondered if his eyes could broadcast just how close he was to meeting that challenge. If his friend had any sense he would back down, before they both did something that would land them on the evening news. But Flynn wouldn’t retreat once he’d made a move; he kept pushing, playing with the lapels of his suit, drawing Alan’s eyes to the movement and forcing him to imagine his own hands there instead.  
  
Mackey finally stopped talking, and someone else stepped up to close the meeting with a recap and comments about goals and teambuilding and more crap that was keeping Alan from pulling Flynn out of that damn chair by his collar and claiming his mouth in a way that made it abundantly clear just what kind of fire he’d been playing with. The others stood, some making small talk, others gathering their things and heading for the door. Alan wanted to shout at them to hurry up and get out. He would have Flynn, soon, but not soon enough.  
  
“Mr. Bradley,” a man said from the other side of the table, “I’d like to talk to you about—”  
  
“Alan and I need to have a private meeting,” Flynn interrupted. For the intensity of the gaze he had leveled on Alan, he sounded remarkably calm. The man excused himself and followed the last of the group as they exited.  
  
Alan opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again. He didn’t have anything to say, he had something to _do._ He rose from the chair and stalked to the other side of the table, stepping to either side of one of Flynn’s still-outstretched legs and leaning down so that his hands rested on the arms of the chair. Flynn pushed himself up from the chair and pressed his lips to Alan’s, opening his mouth and tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted in return. Alan responded by pressing forward and slipping his tongue in beside the other man’s, savoring the slick feel of it as they wrestled for control over the hot, wet space of Flynn’s mouth. Hands dragged along his own dark grey suit, and Alan moaned into the kiss. He brought one hand up and grabbed a fistful of Flynn’s suit to pull him out of the chair. His other hand grasped lower, fingers wrapping around a black leather belt and tugging urgently.  
  
Alan turned both of their bodies so that he was able to push Flynn against the edge of the desk. One step closer to his goal of pressing the other man to the cool glass and taking him in a way that would leave him unable to stand. He pulled his hand away from Flynn’s belt and moved to his own, quickly undoing the catch and then moving on to his zipper. Flynn realized what he was doing and pulled away from the kiss. His eyes wandered down to watch as Alan reached past the dark fabric of his boxers and pulled out his cock. Both men simply stared for a moment, watching as Alan slowly stroked himself.  
  
Flynn pushed away from the table and dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth and drew his lips along Alan’s cock, letting his tongue drag against the soft flesh as he made his way from the base to the tip and back again. Alan watched him and held his breath. Flynn shifted down a bit and began licking the underside of the shaft, looking up at Alan with the man’s cock pressed against his face. Alan wound a hand into Flynn’s hair and gently guided him down until he could feel a hot tongue rolling against his balls, lips drawing in the sensitive flesh and sucking gently. He reached down and pulled at Flynn’s collar, urging him back to his feet. Flynn was reluctant but he allowed himself to be led, and soon they were back against the table. Alan claimed his mouth again and thrilled at the taste of himself on the other man’s tongue, savoring the jolt of arousal at the thought of what that deft little muscle had just done to him.  
  
He grabbed Flynn’s shoulder and spun him around, then pushed down so his chest was flush against the table. One hand reached for the stiff flesh he knew he’d find straining against the dark blue cloth between Flynn’s legs, while the other slipped his belt from its catch and pulled at the zipper. Flynn assisted in dragging his pants over his erection and the obstacle of the hand that Alan was determined to keep there. He was wearing briefs, and Alan spared a moment to yank them down before pressing his hips forward and sliding his cock against the cleft of Flynn’s ass. He stroked with one hand and pulled Flynn’s hips back with the other. In response Flynn rocked back against his friend and groaned through clenched teeth.  
  
They moved against each other for a few minutes, until Flynn reached down and pulled Alan’s insistent hand away, drawing it up to his mouth, sucking on first one, then two fingers. He slipped his tongue between the two digits and curled it around each before sweeping his tongue along the underside of both in one long, agonizingly slow motion that made Alan shiver with anticipation. Flynn pulled the fingers from his mouth and moved Alan’s hand so that it was pressed between his backside and Alan’s cock. It was a clear enough hint, and Alan took up the task, sliding his fingers against the resistant muscle that made Flynn gasp and shake as Alan pressed past it. It didn’t take long for Flynn to start pushing back, using the table as leverage to force Alan’s fingers deeper.  
  
Alan couldn’t take it anymore; he pulled his fingers back, making Flynn cry out in protest, and grasped his erection. With his other hand he pushed Flynn down further until his cheek was resting against the smooth black glass. Alan clenched his jaw and breathed heavily as he moved forward, listening to the tantalizing, desperate sounds Flynn made as he pressed his cock into the other man’s body. He slid forward slowly, inch by inch, shaking with the effort to remain steady. Flynn’s breath fogged the table as he panted his pain and pleasure against the glass. Once Alan was settled fully he leaned forward and pressed himself on top of Flynn’s back, his lips against the other man’s ear and his hands flat on the glass beside their bodies. He twitched his hips forward a bit and smiled when it drew a ragged cry from Flynn. A few more experimental thrusts, then he drove forward hard, making Flynn lift himself from the table a bit.  
  
“How does it feel?” Alan whispered in Flynn’s ear. He punctuated the end of the question with another roll of his hips. Flynn pressed his lips together and made a sound that ended in him shaking his head and dropping his cheek back to the tabletop. Alan took that as a sign that he was doing it right and it was time to drop the pretenses. He shoved his hips forward, drawing back just enough to push forward again, building a rhythm that grew faster with each push, until he was fucking Flynn so hard that the other man was pulling against the glass and leaving streaks on the sleek surface with his fingers.  
  
“You wanted this, didn’t you,” Alan said between two particularly powerful thrusts that shifted Flynn further onto the tabletop, “to feel me inside you?” When Flynn didn’t answer right away he picked up more speed and rocked him harder against the table.  
  
“Yes,” Flynn panted, “yes, Alan,” he repeated over and over. He reached back and pulled at Alan’s jacket to steady himself as he was ridden against the glass as hard as Alan could manage.  
  
Alan switched his hands to Flynn’s hips and gripped them tight. “ _I’m so close, Kevin,_ ” he groaned, and Flynn nodded uselessly in reply.  
  
Flynn reached back and placed his hands over Alan’s, urging him to continue, whispering his approval against the table in half-words and choked moans as Alan’s steady rhythm built to a reckless crescendo. At the edge of his climax Alan suddenly arched his back and shouted a muffled _“Fuck!”_ against the damp collar of Flynn’s suit. He dug his fingers into Flynn’s hips as he came in several shallow, erratic thrusts. The last languid motions as Alan rode his waning orgasm sent Flynn over the edge; he shuddered against the desk and Alan could feel his entire body tense. He looked down to watch his friend, eyes shut tight in ecstasy as he came onto the formerly pristine glass surface.  
  
Flynn stopped moving after a moment and took one long, deep breath. They stayed like that for a moment, and then Alan pulled out slowly, holding Flynn’s hips almost as much to brace himself as to minimize the other man’s discomfort.  
  
It was then, as he stood there looking down at Flynn’s bare and now thoroughly used ass, his pants and briefs bunched around his thighs, panting and limp against the boardroom desk, that Alan came to his senses. He looked down at his own bare cock and his eyes went wide.  
  
“What the hell…?”  
  
Flynn was already turning around. He seemed to have become more aware of the situation as well. “Alan,” he began, but he cut himself off with a wince as he stood up straight. “Alan, hold on a minute, okay, just wait.”  
  
Alan wasn’t listening, though. “Kevin…”  
  
“I can explain, I—I think.”  
  
Alan had backed himself against the wall. He was scrambling to pull his boxers and pants back up, but the pockets were tangled, and he wasn’t making much progress. “I’m sorry, Kevin,” he muttered anxiously.  
  
“It’s not your fault. Or mine, actually,” Flynn added. “I’m going to delete them both.”  
  
The last part made no sense to Alan, but he set it aside for the moment to work out the issue with his pants. He zipped himself up and latched his belt like it would fix everything, but that was ridiculous, of course, and he knew it. Composing himself for a moment, he looked up at Flynn. “Who are you talking about?”  
  
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you, it’s a little weird.” Flynn’s calm in the face of what had just happened bordered on horrifying.  
  
Alan’s response was momentary manic laughter, followed by a total calm that seemed forced in every way. “I think we’re well past _weird,_ Kevin. I just—we just—” The words he’d said to Flynn played back through his mind and he buried his face in his hands.  
  
Flynn sat himself in the chair again, looking slightly relieved, despite the clear discomfort of actually sitting. He rubbed his temples and looked up at Alan who, for his part, seemed to be fighting desperately not to fly apart in six different directions.  
  
“Remember I told you about my private project?”  
  
Alan nodded quickly.  
  
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. And,” he shook his head, “apparently more complicated than even _that._ This is going to take some time to explain.”  
  


———-  
  
  
Clu stood up from where he’d been lying across the console. He rerezzed the missing portion of his suit and turned to regard Tron with a sly smile.  
  
“You’re a tease,” Tron said accusingly. He was replacing his own suit.  
  
“You enjoy it.”  
  
The two programs were in the private space Flynn kept as his arrival point; an unassuming building but for the bright neon letters spelling out FLYNN’S across the front. Tron stepped forward and grasped the back of Clu’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that answered better than words could have. He broke the connection with a gentle bite to the other program’s lower lip. “We really shouldn’t have done this here.”  
  
Clu waved a hand dismissively. “Flynn will never know,” he laughed, “how could he?”


	2. Winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout is fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by and written for Noctaval and Grey_sw. "Alan and Kevin devote themselves to beaming sexy sex at Clu and Tron as revenge for the incident in the boardroom."
> 
> Many, many thanks to Winzler for beta reading and providing a ton of help with this.

“I’m really not comfortable talking about this, Kevin!” With each word Alan’s pace picked up a little, until he was nearly running down the hall to get away from the other man, who seemed to be keeping up with very little effort. _Damn his stamina_ , Alan thought, and then he nearly stumbled into the wall at the realization of his own double entendre.  
  
“You can’t keep avoiding me, and it’s really kind of funny when you think about it! Come on, man.”  
  
Despite his friend’s enthusiasm and good humor, Alan did not agree on either point. He was determined to avoid Flynn at all costs, and he was absolutely certain there was nothing funny about sex on the boardroom table at the compulsion of two computer programs. It didn’t even make _sense_. Part of him thought Flynn was making it up, but it seemed like an awfully ridiculous excuse if he just wanted a quick screw. Not to mention Alan’s own inexplicably wild behavior, which brought him to no better conclusions.  
  
Flynn followed him into the office and shut the door. Alan made sure to stay far from the desk, and instead went to the side table to pour himself a glass of brandy. He hadn’t touched the dusty bottle since someone gifted it to him at the previous year’s holiday party, but now seemed like a good time to give it a go. “Kevin, I really wish you would leave me alone. I need time to think this over, okay.” The words sounded meaningless, practiced, even to him. He had no idea what he needed. Part of him still felt like he needed to throw Flynn down and do his level best to fuck him through the floor. Another felt like he needed to run somewhere, _anywhere_ , as fast as he could. The worst part was, he couldn’t be sure either of those desires were actually his. So he settled on something he was sure originated in his own head: hollow words and a shot of the only alcohol on hand. When the first glass was gone he poured another, letting the amber liquid spill over the side as he dragged the bottle away from the glass and slammed it down on the table.  
  
That answer wasn’t enough for Flynn, though. He walked over and took the glass from Alan’s hand, tossing it back and grimacing as the taste settled on his tongue. “This is terrible,” he said.  
  
Alan looked down at the bottle. “It’s apricot.”  
  
“It’s still terrible. Alan, this isn’t going to go away with a drink or a sprint in the other direction every time you see me. It’s been two weeks, you’re still kind of freaking out, so obviously time isn’t helping. I think the only thing you haven’t tried is talking.” He slid the glass back onto the table and spun it a few times before looking back up. “I’m still your friend, this doesn’t have to change anything.”  
  
“I think it’s a little too late for that, even without the… you know, the sex. I’m just—” Alan caught his breath for a moment before letting it out as a long, heavy sigh. “I’m angry.” While that was technically the truth, it really only scratched the surface of his true feelings.  
  
“Angry?” Flynn laughed. “About what? It’s like bad sex—well, not bad, I didn’t mean that,” he put his hands up when Alan turned to look at him, eyes narrowed and mouth fixed in a flat line. "I meant it’s the same idea. Not the… no, it was actually really good, I said _like_ bad—it’s… Stop looking at me like that.”  
  
The whole thing was ridiculous. Alan couldn’t explain himself without sounding like a lunatic, and Flynn was determined to wish the whole thing away with laughter and finger pointing, like it was all just so easy to ignore. He reached for the brandy and took a drink directly from the bottle. Then, while Flynn stuttered and rushed to explain himself further, Alan folded the cuff of his shirt back and pinched himself on the wrist; it hurt, so chances were good he was in his right mind at the moment.  
  
“Kevin.”  
  
“…I think we could learn a lot from this, too—”  
  
“ _Kevin._ ”  
  
Flynn stopped rambling and focused. “Yeah?”  
  
Alan leaned forward and kissed him; a delicate motion that amounted to little more than the brush of his lips against Flynn’s. He stayed there, waiting for a reaction, his pulse racing and his mind suddenly spinning with doubt. It seemed to take forever to Flynn to lean forward into the kiss, tilting his head and reaching for Alan’s shirt to steady himself.  
  
When they separated Flynn looked at the bottle on the table, clearly confused. “When was the last time you had a drink?”  
  
“I’m not drunk after one glass. And I’m not angry with _you_ ,” Alan said. He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “I’m angry at _them_.”  
  
He had a feeling Flynn wouldn’t take him seriously when he finally admitted it, but he wasn’t prepared for hysterical laughter. Flynn was doubled over, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other gripping the edge of the table. “They’re programs, man, they don’t know any better,” he chuckled. He stood up and clapped a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s Friday, let’s go do something.”  
  
“I just want to go home and sleep. I can’t accidentally zap my dreams to Tron, can I?” he asked bitterly. Some things had to remain sacred, after all. If a man couldn’t be sure that he was jumping his best friend of his own accord, he at least deserved to know that the seemingly unending series of erotic follow-up dreams were his own. Just as Alan reached over to replace the cap on the brandy, an idea struck him. A brilliant idea that, if he were to be completely honest with himself, was as self serving as it was appropriately vengeful. “Hey, Kevin?”  
  
Flynn was busy drawing something with the drops of spilled brandy on the table. “Hmm?”  
  
“Can we do it to them?”  
  
Flynn shifted uncomfortably and wiped away the shape he’d drawn. “Oh, well, I don’t think you’re ready to be on the Grid yet, Alan, much less have s—”  
  
Alan shook his head. “No, I mean can we… turn this around on them? Can we make them feel what we felt?”  
  
This time Flynn’s laughter was more subdued, with a hint of skepticism and concern behind the ostensibly cheerful sound. He looked up curiously. “You want to get revenge? On programs?”  
  
“Yes. On _our_ programs.”  
  
  
  
\--------  
  
  
  
Clu nudged Tron’s side to get his attention. “Ready?” he asked, raising an eyebrow just enough to emphasize his question. Tron nodded, and Clu stepped forward onto the platform that would carry them both up to the arena. They had agreed to end the disc wars tournament with a friendly match which, according to Clu’s sources, was heavily favored to end in a victory for Tron.  
  
Traitors.  
  
“Remember to guard more, swing less,” Tron said as the platform began its ascent. “I’ll go easy on you at first so it’s more entertaining.”  
  
Any other program would have seen Tron’s blank expression and assumed he was serious, but after their time working on the Grid together, Clu could tell when he was hiding the faintest hint of a smile. He chuckled a bit and flexed his fingers. “You’re in for a surprise, tonight,” he warned playfully.  
  
Tron did smile then. “You’re going to forfeit and save yourself the shame of losing?”  
  
The indignant reply from Clu was swept away in the roar of the crowd as their platform reached its destination between the two combat spaces, but he tossed a gesture at the security program that he was sure would make up for it; one Flynn had taught him, and requested that he not share with others. A request was not an order, however, and Clu felt that Tron deserved it in this case. Unfortunately the reaction he received was less than satisfying, as Tron had no idea what his gesture meant. He just shrugged and walked away, leaving Clu standing there, frowning.  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
“You can’t, Alan.” Flynn was backing away slowly as Alan advanced in a manner that made it absolutely clear what he intended to do once he got his hands on the other man. “I’m not even sure it will work, or what it would do to them.”  
  
“If it worked for them, it will work for us,” Alan said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced himself. He was loosening his tie, smiling as he walked Flynn backwards toward the wall.  
  
It wasn’t that Flynn didn’t want to do what Allen was suggesting; he had been keenly aware of how his body reacted every time he saw the other man in the office, even though it was usually as he retreated behind a door. And Flynn was admittedly unhappy with Tron and Clu for what they had done, even though he knew it had been unintentional. It was the thought of just how _much_ trouble their revenge could unleash that made him hesitate. The difference in the passage of time between the Grid and the real world was staggering; what must have been an extended sexual encounter for the two programs only translated to a quickie on the table for their human counterparts. He couldn’t be sure that the reverse wouldn’t incapacitate them for a period long enough to plunge the Grid into total chaos. “I want to, I really do, but it’s not that simple.”  
  
Apparently it had been a mistake to let Alan know that he was open to the idea at all. In the time it took for his back to hit the wall, Alan was on him, pulling his wrists above his head and pushing his thigh between Flynn’s legs. He leaned in for another kiss, this one rough and insistent, and made a pleased sound when Flynn reciprocated quickly. After a moment of plunging his tongue into the other man’s mouth, Alan pulled away. He let go of Flynn’s wrists  
  
“Get on the floor.”  
  
Flynn nodded and dropped down, falling back against the wall. Alan grabbed the brandy and took another sip, then knelt down so that he was straddling Flynn’s lap. His tie was already half undone, and he yanked the last of the knot free with a couple of quick tugs. “Lie down,” he ordered, “and put your hands above your head.”  
  
A little confused, but too aroused to care, Flynn obeyed. He watched as Alan leaned forward and looped the tie around the leg of the table, and then began to tie his wrists together. “Alan, what—”  
  
“Don’t worry.”  
  
“I’m not,” Flynn protested, although he was. He had never seen this side of Alan before—at least not when it was actually Alan, rather than Tron influencing him. If this was his friend’s idea of revenge, he could probably fix whatever happened to the Grid as a result. Alan finished tying him up and moved on to his suit. He pushed at the lapels of his brown jacket and started unbuttoning the white shirt beneath. Flynn lifted his head to watch, fascinated by Alan’s intensity and the speed of his fingers as he worked the catch of each button. As soon as the last one was out of the way, Alan spread his palms over Flynn’s chest. He bent over and spread his tongue flat against Flynn’s stomach, making the other man gasp in surprise.  
  
“Why do I have to be tied up for this?” Flynn breathed. He wanted to tangle his fingers in Alan’s hair. Having his hands tied was suddenly very inconvenient.  
  
Alan’s reply sent puffs of warm air across Flynn’s stomach, making him shiver. “You’ll see,” he said. The cryptic response made Flynn a little nervous, but he nodded and let his head fall back against the carpet. The last of his concerns faded when Alan’s mouth traveled up his stomach to his chest. The tip of his tongue grazed Flynn’s nipple, and he couldn’t help but twitch. Alan did it again, faster, then flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot repeatedly until Flynn was moaning and lifting his chest to meet Alan’s mouth.  
  
“Shit, Alan,” Flynn gasped. He fell back against the floor and lifted his hips, seeking contact for the erection trapped behind what suddenly felt like an oppressive amount of cloth. Alan held himself out of reach, making Flynn clench his jaw and groan with frustration. “You’re trying to kill me. This is going to kill me.”  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
Although he would never admit it to Clu—mostly because he valued peace and the other program would never let him have it if he did say anything—Tron actually enjoyed knowing that his skill far surpassed Clu’s. After all, Clu _had_ his user; he could see him and touch him if he wanted, and all Tron had were the few stories Flynn shared that weren’t impossible to understand with his limited knowledge of the users’ world. In a way he was jealous. Having a leg up on his fellow program made up for that somewhat. It also gave him an advantage in their more personal dealings, which Tron knew meant more to him than it did to Clu, who seemed to enjoy the foreplay most of all. He assumed the other program saw the teasing as a form of control, and therefore power, which he was happy to let him believe. The chase was pleasurable, and made the inevitable capture and conquest that much sweeter. They hadn’t met for another tryst since, but it was only a matter of time before their interests coincided again and Clu returned to his maddening little game.  
  
The thought of their last time together was distracting enough that Clu managed to score a hit. Tron looked at his arm; it was a good thing Flynn had set up the arena battles to deal no real damage, or he would have lost the appendage entirely. It was a decent shot, but one he would have been able to deflect or dodge easily if he’d been focused.  
  
“Lucky shot,” he called out, and Clu laughed. Tron ducked away from another incoming attack, then threw himself into a spin and used the momentum to hurl his disc forward. It caught Clu in the stomach almost like he’d been waiting for it, sending him down on one knee. The aggressive attack was meant to remind the other program that this was Tron’s game, but Clu seemed to take it as a challenge, instead. He really was determined to win, against all logic; it made Tron smile. He enjoyed watching Clu throw everything he had into the game, listening to the sounds he made as he overexerted himself on every single throw. Needy, desperate sounds. Much like the arousing noises he made when Tron had bent him over the desk and filled him with his cock, pounding him against the hard surface while he moaned and gasped and begged for more. Reaching between his own legs to pleasure himself while he was taken, only to have his hands pulled away and held behind his back, giving him a taste of his own torment.  
  
Another hit made contact, this time in his thigh, and Tron hissed in pain. He saw Clu bounce on his toes in celebration. The announcer explained the hit to the spectators, and Tron frowned at the unflattering description of his mistake. He would make sure Clu lost in a way that made him feel like a fool for believing that he had a chance. Then he would find him, after the match, and remind him who was stronger, and who had the real power between the two of them. He imagined Clu on the floor of the armory with his wrists held above his head, body curved in a quivering arc, desperately seeking contact. Tron would make him wait. He would make him _beg_. He would—  
  
“Tron takes a hit to the shoulder!” the announcer crowed. “Two more hits to an appendage or one hit to the upper body, and he will lose this match!”  
  
Tron looked up at the scoreboard circling above. It was clear; Clu could win with a single hit.  
  
“That is _not_ happening,” he growled. Forsaking theatrics, he put everything he had into a throw that would hit Clu square in the chest. Unless he moved, in which case there was a chance it would hit him in the head and possibly do serious damage, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He couldn’t lose to Clu—not to him, and not after all that had transpired between them. He wanted Clu on his knees, mouth open and begging to have his cock, then pleading to be pressed against the floor and fucked like that was his only function.  
  
He dodged an attack that Clu had aimed high, probably intending to make contact on a rebound. The disc bounced off the tile below his feet and went flying off to the side. Tron smirked and pulled his arm back to unleash an attack that would finish the game. He pulled wide and stepped forward, just about to loose the disc, and suddenly he was going down to the floor on his hands and knees. His back burned like he’d been run over by a light cycle. The arena exploded in excitement all around him, and the scoreboard above spun wildly as the letters reconfigured to flash Clu’s name. The match was over.  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
Flynn was tied to the table and at his mercy, and Alan knew it wouldn’t take much to make the man beg to be taken right there on the floor. He looked at his watch; it was well past five, and the office would be empty. No one was going to hang around on a Friday evening. Plenty of time to do whatever he wanted.  
  
He had already rid Flynn of his pants and shoes, leaving his shirt and jacket on by necessity, and his briefs by choice. He bent down and pulled at the tented cloth with his lips, making Flynn moan and buck his hips until Alan held him down with one hand. He dragged his mouth up the length of Flynn’s cock, wrapping his lips around the head, slowly sweeping his tongue over the fabric that covered it and making Flynn curse through clenched teeth.  
  
“Alan, please, I can’t—” he broke off in a stutter as Alan reached under the elastic at his leg and grasped the base of his erection.  
  
“Tell me what you want,” Alan breathed against him. He slid his hand along the shaft while his mouth and tongue wandered across the tip in long, languid strokes.  
  
“Fuck me,” Flynn said quickly. He sounded very hopeful.  
  
Alan made a disapproving sound. “You’ll have to do better than that.”  
  
“What?” Flynn’s head shot up from the floor. “Alan, please!”  
  
As much as he wanted to rip the briefs down, flip him over and fulfill Flynn’s request, Alan had other plans for his friend. This was about revenge before pleasure, and he intended to make sure he got the best of it before either of them got what they really wanted. Flynn had given up on begging and buried his face in the bunched fabric at his shoulder, gasping into the cloth and begging in broken words and half cries as Alan worked him with cruel precision. “Come on, Kevin, you know what I want to hear from you.”  
  
Flynn cried out helplessly and kicked his leg. It made Alan smile to watch the other man lose his mind the lightest touch, and he rewarded Flynn by pulling the band of his briefs down just enough to free his erection partway. The hot flesh against his lips was so much more satisfying than the damp cloth, not to mention softer, and certainly better tasting, too. He tugged the underwear down to the middle of Flynn’s thighs and left it there, more concerned now with the hectic beat of Flynn’s pulse against his lips. It wasn’t much faster than his own, and Alan found himself wondering if the programs would experience something similar. His mind wandered to the thought of what it would be like to have sex with someone who looked like him. Or two of Flynn. The idea of watching two eager, identical tongues sliding along his cock and then over one another made him ache. He looked up at Flynn; the man was a mess of quivering, sweat-soaked skin and desperation. He’d said that the passage of time worked differently on the Grid; the programs must have experienced a great deal of torment already, if his efforts had worked at all. Maybe it was time to up the ante.  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
“You lost.”  
  
“Yes, I noticed.”  
  
Clu was having trouble hiding his satisfaction—not that he was trying very hard. The little voice that said his opponent had clearly been distracted was soundly pushed aside in favor of a more triumphant, self-satisfied replacement. He looked over at Tron to bask in the knowledge that he had defeated the hero of the Grid, and his grin faded; Tron was hunched against the wall, holding the arm that had been struck during the match. “Did you take damage?” he asked, quickly forgetting his recent victory.  
  
“No, I’m fine,” Tron muttered. He pushed off the wall and walked toward the armory exit. Clu regarded him curiously for a moment and then followed, intent on getting a straight answer. He didn’t like being lied to, and certainly not by Tron, who had a tendency to be brutally honest under all circumstances.  
  
They reached the door and Clu jumped forward to grab Tron’s arm before he could exit. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I said it was nothing,” Tron snapped, but he turned and grabbed Clu’s shoulders, spinning him toward the wall and pinning him there. His grip was as intense as the stare he fixed on Clu. “I need you.”  
  
“Need me?”  
  
“ _Right now_.”  
  
Then he was turned, and pressed harder against the wall so that he had no choice but to lay his cheek flat against the cool surface. Tron’s hands were on his back, his waist, kneading and groping him through his armor. He felt the warmth of lips on the back of his neck. Hands gripped his hips, and Tron ground himself against Clu’s backside, making it unmistakably clear just what he had in mind. Clu made a curious sound and pushed back, and Tron responded by winding his fingers through Clu’s hair and angling his head back. He bit down gently, still rocking his hips against the other program.  
  
“Take me, then,” Clu whispered, and Tron let go of his hair.  
  
“No teasing this time?”  
  
Clu responded by reaching down and derezzing the lower half of his suit to his knees. “Do you want me to tease you? Or do you want to have me right here, against this wall?”  
  
Tron needed no further invitation, apparently; Clu heard the sound of armor derezzing, and then that same insistent hardness pressed against his backside, rubbing at the cleft of his ass as Tron worked himself up to the inevitable moment when he pushed forward, groaning, seeking the tight, hot feeling of Clu’s body. When that moment came Clu expected it to be like the last time; he was wholly unprepared for the rough way Tron thrust forward, slamming both of their bodies together in a way that made Clu cry out in surprise. Tron hooked his chin over Clu’s shoulder and grabbed his hips. He moved faster, pounding relentlessly with no sign of slowing down.  
  
Clu whimpered at a particularly brutal plunge that started with Tron pulling out almost entirely, and then bending his knees so that he nearly lifted Clu off his feet with the return thrust. “Tron, slow down,” he gasped, “it’s too much.”  
  
Tron didn’t seem to be listening, though. He reached around and grabbed Clu’s thighs from the front, spreading his legs apart and pushing even deeper. Clu pressed his hands over Tron’s and bit his lip. Last time he’d spent hours working the security program into a state of arousal that ended in wanton, albeit passionate sex. This wasn’t the same. This was aggressive, yet strangely pleasurable in a way that was just shy of painful. Knowing that Tron was so blinded by lust that he couldn’t be bothered with anything but his need to be inside Clu was almost as arousing to him as the teasing had been, only immeasurably more powerful, and bearing down all at once. His own erection was trapped between the wall and his body, and that, too, was just enough to be stimulating. As though he’d heard his thoughts, Tron reached around and inserted his hand between Clu’s erection and the wall. With each thrust Clu was pushed into Tron’s hand, sliding against his skin and driving him mad.  
  
“Please,” Clu gasped. The hand on his hip tightened and Tron growled something unintelligible in his ear. Clu could feel himself getting close; the friction was too intense, and the feeling Tron filling him, the entire length of his cock reaching deep inside his body, was overwhelming. Tron pulled Clu back at the waist and pushed his shoulders down so that he had to put his forearms on the wall to keep from being slammed into it. He continued his furious pace, both hands now secured on Clu’s hips, dragging him back onto his cock while he pushed forward relentlessly.  
  
“I won,” Tron rasped. He dragged a hand along Clu’s side and reached for his erection again. “Didn’t I?”  
  
Clu nodded. “ _Yes_.” At that moment he lacked the presence of mind to argue. Tron was driving into him, pushing the limit of his ability to keep himself from crashing into the wall.  
  
“What did I win?”  
  
“What—the battle— _ow_ —” An angry shove from Tron sent him forward faster than he could control, and his head hit the wall.  
  
“No.”  
  
Hands grasped him possessively, squeezing with gloved fingers and scraping against his skin.  
  
“Me,” Clu cried as those same hands started working him in his most sensitive places. More gently than seemed possible, under the circumstances. “ _You won me_.”  
  
“Say it again.”  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
Alan was hunched over Flynn, forehead pressed against his shoulder, hands holding his hips and lifting him from the floor as he rocked forward in long, agonizingly slow strokes that made Flynn’s body shake with need. He wanted speed, he wanted power, he wanted to be _fucked_ and Alan was not playing along. Every time he asked for more, he got less, and at one point the other man had stopped entirely, unwound Flynn’s legs from where they were locked around his back, and returned to the game he’d been playing with his cock. It was torture, and Alan, as it turned out, was disturbingly good at it.  
  
“Please, I need more,” Flynn begged, but he was ignored. He tried to pull Alan toward him, but the man was like a wall.  
  
“I told you to tell me what you want.”  
  
“I tried! Jesus, Alan, I can’t take it, please!” If this was reaching Tron and Clu, Flynn was sure it would mean the end of the Grid. Massive system glitches, grid bugs everywhere—he was barely able to keep himself from breaking down under the strain, he could only imagine how much doom it would spell for those two.  
  
His second greatest fear at the moment was feedback—creating an endless loop of sexual urges that would incapacitate all four of them. His first was that Alan really did intend to make him suffer more than he already was. Alan laughed and slid forward again. Flynn found himself admiring his friend’s control, but he also found himself wanting to punch him in the face.  
  
“You have what you want, you just have to say it, don’t you?” Alan was mocking him, making a game of it and dangling the answer right in his face.  
  
Flynn wanted to say something nasty, but he was almost certain it wouldn’t get him what he needed any more than pleading had. “ _You_ ,” he growled, clenching his legs and squeezing Alan in the only form of petty revenge that was open to him. He was just about to continue with something more colorful when a sudden surge of movement from Alan left him speechless. He knew, then, what answer Alan had been seeking. It _was_ obvious.  
  
“Say it again,” Alan breathed. He moved faster, and Flynn felt like he could scream.  
  
“You, I want you, Alan— _ah!_ ” Alan rewarded him by snapping his hips forward. Flynn pulled at the tie wrapped around his wrists. “Untie me, please,” he begged.  
  
Alan reached up and pulled at the knot that had, by that point, tightened considerably. When the silk came loose he cast it aside and reached his hand between their bodies to curl his fingers around Flynn’s erection, stroking in time with his thrusts. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”  
  
After so much stimulation, the relief of finally getting what he wanted had Flynn so close to the edge that he could barely hold on. He wanted to ask Alan to stop stroking him, but it felt so good, and he ached to finally have more, to feel Alan let go and just do what he wanted. Flynn tensed and arched his back with the first wave of his orgasm. His fingers clutched at Alan’s back and he twisted his body, crying out. Alan’s grip tightened and he stilled, his whole body thrumming with tension. His jaw clenched and he jerked his hips as he came.  
  
Flynn’s arms fell uselessly against the floor. His remaining clothing felt too damp for comfort. He looked up at Alan. “Satisfied?” he sighed.  
  
Alan adjusted his glasses and laughed nervously. “I think you know the answer to that.”  
  
“No,” Flynn said, “I meant with your revenge.”  
  
For a moment the other man just stared at him, and then he mouthed a startled “ _oh_ ” and nodded. “Yes, that… I suppose I am.”  
  
Flynn shook his head and laughed.  
  
  
  
\-------  
  
  
  
Tron ran his hands along Clu’s legs and smiled. The other program was on top of him, straddling his hips, eyes closed as he rolled forward to the last pulse of his climax. Tron had finished already, but he waited for Clu to spend himself before rolling them both over so that he was on top. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Clu’s jaw.  
  
“Aren’t you done yet?” Clu asked lazily. He seemed lethargic; Tron assumed he was low on energy. They would have to take a break—a short one.  
  
Eventually.  
  
“Mm, almost,” he replied, and reached up to claim the other program’s mouth. He smiled into the kiss and shifted his hips to make himself more comfortable.  
  
Tron couldn’t quite remember how long it had been. After the encounter in the basement of the arena, they had been able to focus enough to move to Flynn’s private residence in the center of the city, but the moment of clarity hadn’t lasted long. Tron felt terrible at first, knowing that Flynn probably wouldn’t be pleased when he discovered what had transpired in his bed, but the guilt was quickly set aside once he realized how much more he enjoyed sex there, as opposed to standing.  
  
It seemed to take forever, but his lust, his _need_ , had finally abated somewhat. He planted another kiss on Clu’s jaw and then down his neck, ending at his collar, where he licked and sucked and nibbled, making Clu squirm and protest wordlessly, sighing and making those breathless noises that Tron loved to hear.  
  
Clu lifted his legs and wrapped them around Tron’s hips. “I thought you said you were done?” he asked as Tron moved intently inside him.  
  
The response came with a deep stroke and a bite at the base of his neck. “I said _almost_.”


End file.
